


Soaring

by bearlytolerable



Series: Modern Circus AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Circus!AU, F/M, just some prompt fills for my circus au, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearlytolerable/pseuds/bearlytolerable
Summary: A collection of prompt fills for my Clan Lavellan modern Circus AU called Free Falling.*note these are separate prompt fills from the AU but can be read with or separately from its parent fic*





	1. Something New

There is a full moon tonight and it’s brought a full crowd with it. Sarya stands outside, shaded from the moonlight by the Big Top’s looming shadow. She takes a last drag on her cigarette and puffs the smoke out slowly through the side of her mouth. She tosses it on the ground, stamps it out with her foot. She smoothes her hair, ties it up with a crimson ribbon and pulls back the circus tent flap.

 

“The fuck took you so long? Your up next,” Deshanna hisses at her through clenched teeth. His top hat’s off and his eyeliner is running. 

 

She only feels slightly bad because that vein on his neck looks strained, another sign of his stress. But she refuses to believe she could ever be the sole cause of his stresses. Sure, she could make things easier. But it’s not like it mattered what she did anyway. Deshanna was always stressed these days. Business was only decent on weekends and Mr. Amladaris’ hand was only gripping their coin purses tighter. 

 

In reality, it’s not like showing up early was going to increase the coin purse funds. It wasn’t like she was the one making all the coin anyway. The Twins and Makon were the money makers. Hell, if one of them went missing, they’d really be out of business. The only ones missing her would be skeevy audience members hoping to get a cheap shag. 

 

She lets the tension of the room roll right of her shoulders as she does some quick stretches. She smoothes her hands down her leotard then reaches into the chalk bowl. She dusts her hands and waits. 

 

The music swells to a dramatic crescendo and she strides out into the ring. Her aerialist ribbon awaits her. She goes to it, wraps herself in it and climbs, climbs, climbs. She is out and above the audience, swinging, swaying, hypnotizing. She begins her her ribbon dance in time to the music, getting lost to the feel of the silk on her skin. Lost to the world and its illusions and lies and falsities. She soars above the crowd on her silken wings. She does a few tricks and wraps the silk around her body. She lets go with her hand and there are  _ oohs  _ and  _ ahhs _ and clapping. The music is almost over and her heart swells. It is time for her favorite part of this act and she allows herself to unravel. 

 

She

 

plummets,

plummets, 

plummets 

 

until at last the ribbons catch her just before she hits the ground. She smiles, satisfied and exhilarated. There is a round of applause. The music ends. She bows and exists. Her only act is done for the night.

 

She sits at her vanity and unties the ribbon. Her curls fall over her shoulder like a heavy sigh. She stares into the mirror and wishes that something exciting would happen. 

 

“Aw shit,” she mutters and touches her left ear. She’s noticed an earring missing and has no idea when she lost it. “Not again.” She slumps and sighs and begins to remove her makeup. 

 

She catches a glimpse of an elf staring at her in the mirror. He is tall and broad shouldered but otherwise lanky. He pushes his glasses up his nose and straightens his cardigan.

 

“Excuse me,” he clears his throat. 

 

She does not turn to face him. She has lost count of how often some lonely  member of the audience comes looking for her. They usually compliment her looks then her body and the way that it moves in the silk. Then they think that compliment pays for a free touch. She shudders and shrugs into her jacket, she reaches for a hairpin, readying herself for any unwanted affections. He moves closer and she grows rigid.

 

“You shouldn’t be back here.” It’s a warning more than anything.

 

He looks down at his loafers. “I only wished to return this.” 

 

The light hits the small dangling earring and it glimmers in the mirror.

 

_ Oh.  _

 

She swivels and stands, holds out her hand. He hands it over.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for the mesmerizing performance.” He nods and walks away. 

 

She is left astounded. Her hand relaxes and she puts the earring back in her ear. She decides to follow after him. Her heart thumps in her ears, almost as if she’s plummeting all over again as she catches up to the tall stranger. She reaches out to touch his arm and he turns to look at her. His eyes are an unexplored galaxy, bright and full of wonder. 

 

She smiles and puts out her hand. He takes it in his own. His fingers are long and palms soft and smooth. 

 

“I’m Sarya. “Wanna get a drink or something ?”

 

“Solas,” he says and she tries not to get hung up on his melodic intonation, “if there are to be introductions.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2...Solas and Sarya have a nice time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be held responsible for the quality of this while writing for da drunk writing lolz but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

Café Etienne is not the place she would have expected to end up. It is the furthest place from a bar, with it’s smooth jazz playing in the background and comforting coffee scents warming her insides. To her left is a tall glass display case filled with dozens upon dozens of different pastries. She goes to it as if summoned by an inner calling. Solas is beside her, chuckling softly.

  
“I prefer the frilly cakes.” Her eyes follow his fingers to a row of daintily decorated petit fours.

  
“Oh? But there are so many to choose from…how do you pick?”

  
Solas shrugs. “It’s a gamble every time but one worth taking.”

  
She laughs. “Clearly.”

  
Solas moves away and she pays no attention to where he goes. Her eyes are on a chocolate covered petit four with the smallest ribbon curls of frosting on top.

  
“The chocolate one?” Solas’ voice startles her, and she wipes the drool that has gathered in the corner of her mouth with her jacket sleeve.

  
“It looks so good.”

  
Solas slides open the glass door and reaches in with a small piece of pink parchment paper and sets it in a decorative box. He grabs up two more petit fours and goes up to the counter. There’s a list about a mile long filled with drinks to order and Sarya feels small and ever shrinking as she studies it. She hears Solas order a drinks and asks her what she wants. The pressure to decide weighs heavily on her. Her eyes blur all the words together until they glass over. It’s too much.

  
“Uh, um…” She feels as if all eyes are on her and she shifts uneasily, displaced.

“I’ll just have water.”

  
“Is that all?” The cashier asks.

  
Solas nods.

  
“We’ll bring it to you when it’s ready,” the cashier says.

  
Sarya is too busy taking deep breaths to realize Solas is paying for her items as well as his. But the cash is already in the cashier’s hand and it’s too late to make a fuss. She flushes deep red and follows him to a table.

  
“You didn’t need to pay for that.”

  
“If it makes you feel better, you can buy next time.”

  
She laughs at that. Her chest is lighter. “How do you know there will be a next time?”

  
“I don’t. But the gamble is worth taking the risk.”

  
Sarya shakes her head and can’t keep from grinning. She watches as he nudges his glasses up his nose again.

  
“So, Solas,” she begins but pauses as a waiter places their drinks on the table. They both thank him as he walks away. “What do you do for a living?”

  
“I’m an editor.”

  
She takes a sip of her water. “Oh? Like for books?”

  
“Newspaper. The Inquisitor to be exact.”

  
“That’s fantastic. I love reading the newspaper, especially that advice column you have, Cole’s Corner. Good advice, though sometimes the words go over my head.”

  
“Yes, I have thought about editing his replies in a more concise manner, but I felt that if I did so, I’d be altering him in some way and that just doesn’t seem right.”

  
“You are a kind man, Solas.” Almost too kind. She is beginning to have suspicions about him but every time she sees him scrunch his nose all cute or fiddle with the hems of his clothing, she can’t help but believe he is genuinely kind. Which is a welcome refreshment. She will take it for what it is.

  
He nods awkwardly at her comment and takes a sip from his drink.

  
“What about you, what do you do?”

  
“I’m a silk ribbon Aerialist.”

  
He flushes red, pushes up his glasses again. “Right.” A nervous chuckle.

  
She chuckles with him and he seems to ease back into himself.

They continue talking into the night, their desserts going untouched and drinks long gone. He tells her of his quaint home town and about how he’s looking forward to going home in two weeks. She listens to him talk about his hobbies and they get lost in a discussion on art. Before they know it, the lights are dimming, and they are the last ones left in the café. They quickly gather their things and head out before they are booted out.

  
“Here,” Solas says, handing her the little dessert.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“Mind if I walk you back?” Solas asks, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  
“Sure, I’d like that.” She smiles and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

  
He walks her back to the big top, slow strides meant for straying until there’s nothing but goodbyes. Her heart buzzes like a bee and he is already her honey. She chastises herself for being soft and pushes the feelings away. But as he turns to go, she only knows that she wants to see him again.

  
“Come back and see me some time,” Sarya calls out.

  
“Of course,” Solas says and waves.

  
She does not linger outside the tent once he goes. The light leaves with his figure and she does not forget where she is.

 


	3. Birthday Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas celebrates his 40th birthday and gets a tad too drunk.

“Hey-O!!! Everyone enjoys a round on me for the birthday boy!!” Hawke raises his mug of ale, suds sloshing over the glass and onto the table.

There’s an eruption of loud, drunken cheering. The crowd dies down to the typical chattering white noise and Varric eyes Solas over his sophisticated glass of mulberry wine.

“So how’s it feel to be the big 4-0, Chuckles?”

“I feel no immediate change.” He takes his glasses off and cleans them, rubs at his forehead. “However, I do believe you would be more experienced on the matter, correct?”

Varric laughs. “I don’t know. I stopped counting years ago.”

Just then Thom Rainier slides into their booth, a bottle of bourbon and three shot glasses in hand. He passes them around the table, laughing when he sees Varric’s drink.

“You don’t mean to celebrate with that do you? This is a birthday bash, not a socialite soirée!”

Varric protectively covers his wine glass then lifts it to his lips for a drink. “Trust me, once I have a couple glasses, I’ll be on my ass just like the rest of you.”

Thom shakes his head. “So, Solas, your girl coming tonight?”

He leans over the table, pouring the bourbon in the glass, it has a semi-sweet and nutty smell to it. Probably expensive.

  
“I highly doubt she can travel halfway across Thedas to be here tonight…” He downs the shot. It tastes strong at first but finishes smooth and sweet. He tastes a hint of pecans.

He wishes she’d be here. That any minute she’d be traipsing through the door, all smiles and sunshine. They’d have too many drinks together, maybe even share a dance or sing karaoke. He could imagine the whiskey on her breath now as she whispered in his ear and stole a kiss. But this was no place-no time to have his head in the clouds. He put his glasses back on.

“Could I have another?” He asks Thom.

“Anything for the birthday boy!”

He hates that-birthday boy-but he doesn’t protest because it’s only for one night a year. Surely he can endure one night.

A striking beat blares out of the bar speakers and Solas finds himself tapping along with the bass. He doesn’t know the song, or it’s lyrics but it’s catchy enough that if he pays attention, he’ll know the chorus by end of song. He bobs his head and listens to the other men chat about their lives, their successes and keeps pouring himself drinks.

After the fourth shot, he finds himself on the dance floor, doing moves he never knew he was capable of while laughing with Thom and Varric. They’re just about drunk if not there already and everything is hilarious until Solas bumps into a guy named Samson who is against all things fun.

“You got a problem?” He asks Solas.

Solas is five inches taller and the man puffs out his chest as if he can somehow be intimidating. This makes the three friends laugh harder and Solas takes a right hook to the eye. His glasses go flying, no time to find them.

“Fenedhis!” He spits and squares up.

He hasn’t hit anyone in years but he’s not thinking straight. He’s all bourbon and clouds and he’s coming down on the man like lightning. He does a boxers shuffle, outdated from his youth but he still knows how to throw a punch. He hits the man in the jaw, sees a tooth fly, or so he thinks. The world seems to spin and it’s just that other guy and him. He takes another hit to his own nose, the taste of blood on his lip. But he’s not going out like this and he jabs the man in the stomach with an elbow to get him doubled over. Blasts him with an uppercut. He’s knocked out and the bar’s cheering. Then thunk. He’s on the floor and his world goes black.

When he wakes up he’s in a chair and the sunlight is hazy from the sunrise but blinding enough to make him cry out. He shields his eyes and he’s got dried blood on his knuckles. Next to him, his buddies are snoring on the table and he’s surprised Hawke didn’t kick them out.

He can’t see straight and his head hurts like hell. He reaches over and shakes Varric awake.

“Wha-what do you want?” He says.

“I would like to rescind my statements from the night before. I’m getting too old to party.”

Varric manages a laugh and an “ow” before burying his head back in his arms. Solas grumbles too and also buries his head in his arms, mumbling, “remind me to stay home for my birthday next year.”

“You can’t count on it,” Varric says.

“Just shut up you two,” says Thom.

And they do. But even in his hungover state, Solas wonders if next year, maybe Sarya will be with him to celebrate. The possibility makes his headache slightly more bearable.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for dropping by and reading!


End file.
